Utterly intoxicated
by Lillipop265
Summary: Ron gets drunk and somehow Hermione ends up looking after him. Hermione's POV. Wow, I suck at summaries.
1. Utterly intoxicated

**A/N: Just another snippet of Ron and Hermione's life. Set more in the future, maybe when they leave Hogwarts? This could just be a one-shot but a reckon I could think of ways to continue it. So leave me a review and let me know if you think it's worth it.**

**Hermione's POV**

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I found him. I found him leant across the bar, spilling his drink on the floor with the barman telling him he'd had "one too many." One was an understatement.

"Ronald!" I'd given him my best angry mother impression, he'd just looked up sideways and almost toppled backwards.

I'd caught him…just, and he rewarded me with a grateful smile. "I'm taking you home," I'd explained.

He didn't argue, he didn't have the current mental capacity to do so. He just leant against me, draped an arm round my shoulders and murmured "weyhey" into my left arm.

I had my arm hooked loosely round his waist to allow me to drag him to the door and out into the night. We made it down the road, where I opened the car door and dropped him on to the passenger seat. I closed the door, walked round to the other side, got in the car and turned the key.

As I pulled out of the parking space, Ron made a poor drunken attempt at conversation.

" 'Mione, love you."

"Ronald, I have no idea what you're implying but I can assure you that you're not in your right mind." Wherever that is.

He looked hurt, confused, probably because he wasn't aware of what he was saying, I'd save the drinking lecture for the morning, he'd never listen now anyway. He slumped back in his chair, resting his head on his own shoulder and closed his eyes, right as I turned the corner into his road.

He was asleep, perfect.

"Ronald…Ronald! You need to wake up, you're home."

He hummed back at me, acknowledging my voice but not exactly regaining consciousness.

I parked and nudged his arm in order to provoke him into fully awakening.

"'Mione?"

"Well done Ronald, now get out of the car."

I waited for him to oblige before I realised he'd never make it to his front door alone and escorting him there, using my spare key to gain access and following him inside.

"Ronald, have you actually eaten anything?"

He shrugged.

I sighed.

"How much have you drunk?"

Another shrug.

Another sigh.

"You need food," I told firmly. He stood there bewildered as I went to the fridge and took out the first healthy-ish thing I saw: eggs.

"How does scrambled eggs sound?"

No reply, I took that as agreement.

I cracked the eggs in a bowel, added milk and mixed. It was as I poured the mixture into a frying pan that I heard the footsteps behind me.

Before I had a chance to think (and believe me, that's fast) his arm snaked round my waist, his body against mine, his hot breath on my neck.

I continued to stir the eggs.

"'Mione," he murmured in my ear, his lips were brushing against my skin; he was so wondrously close that it made me feel dizzy… but he was drunk.

I span out his grasp, resting against the surface behind me and looked back at Ron. There was a look of hunger in his eyes and it wasn't for the eggs.

"You're utterly intoxicated, you won't even remember what you're doing by morning."

He opened his mouth, as if in protest but merely blinked at me wordlessly . He stepped forward.

Much more of this and I'd find myself giving in. I placed my hands on his shoulders, summoned my inner strength and pushed back.

"No."

It was harsh, it was far too strict, I sounded like a parent denying a toddler cookies but it was necessary.

And it worked. A look of realisation dawned on him and he stepped back, walked away like a disciplined child.

I finished cooking the eggs and he ate them in silence. With the same tension in the air he left the kitchen and walked into the bathroom and emerged in pyjama bottoms, hugging his arms to his bare chest as though he felt guilty for something. He looked ridiculously vulnerable. I couldn't leave, I'd never forgive myself if he choked on his own vomit.

I waited for him to settle into one side of the double bed and then sat, fully dressed, above the duvet, against the headboard till morning.

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I must've fallen asleep. I opened my eyes as the sunlight invaded the room to find Ron standing above me in jeans and a t-shirt looking fairly proud of himself. After his actions the night before I couldn't imagine why.

He presented me with the tray he was holding, offering the word "breakfast" as explanation. I realised eggs were probably just about all he had in his fridge as I looked at the plate in front of me. Fried eggs on toast and a glass of orange juice.

"Hermione…"

I looked up, he only ever used my full name when he felt bad.

"…I'm really sorry for you know, to tell you the truth I don't remember most of it. I just wanted to thank-you, you didn't have to stay, I tend to be a jerk when I'm drunk."

I gazed into his nervous eyes, he was awaiting my approval, his face begging for forgiveness.

He shrugged in apology.

I sighed to compose myself.

I nodded at him.

"You're forgiven," A grin lit up his face, "but you're doing the washing up."

His smile dropped slightly, but he accepted the terms with held-back laughter. He knew he could get almost anything from me.

As I ate my breakfast and Ron began washing up the pile left from last night, I wondered about the connection between us.

This odd relationship, where we'd go from me looking after him one minute, to him looking after me the next. This constant skimming the boundaries of our friendship but never reaching into anything more. Ron seemed to conveniently forget his drunken outbursts, the things he said and the things he did, leaving me with this dilemma of whether there was truth in his words.

Could we really carry on like this forever?

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**A/N: So yeah, should I continue? Reviews please :) I had vaccinations today which I hate and reviews would somehow make me feel a whole lot better about the pain in my arm. Oh and I apologise if this is a bit patchy in places, I was fairly tired when I wrote it. **


	2. More false apologies?

**A/N: So, I decided to continue thanks to lovely reviewers, all of whom I'm very grateful to :)**

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_ *Starts as no-one's POV. Third person* _

"Ron mate? Hermione called, she said you weren't looking too…oh…"

Harry's voice trailed off at the site of his best friend tucked into the corner of the couch, a half empty bottle of fire-whiskey was swinging in Ron's hand and by the looks of things he downed the majority of it fairly quickly.

He must've been lying there for a while because he seemed to have drifted into a not so peaceful slumber. Memories were replaying in his mind as though he was gazing into a pensive.

_ *Flashback*_

_Ron had been sat at the kitchen table for over an hour, he was just thinking. He wasn't entirely sure what about… just stuff._

_To others he looked tired, exhausted even, thoughts running round his brain had stolen his energy till he thought he couldn't bear the pain anymore._

_The door opened, he looked up._

"_Charlie?"_

_A large grin greeted him._

"_You look dead on your feet little bro, take this." He pushed a glass towards the younger boy, a generous helping of fire-whiskey glistened inside._

_Ron took it, chugged half of it back without pausing to think, the liquid burned his throat but numbed his thoughts, left him feeling calmer, maybe he'd even be able to sleep._

_He coughed a little. "Take it easy," Charlie remarked as his gin became a smirk. _

"_What is this stuff?" His voice cracked through his words._

"_This little brother, is the answer to all your problems…"_

_ *End of flashback*_

"Mate?" Harry called again. "What's going on?"

Ron suddenly awoke, his head was spinning as he blinked the room back into focus.

"Harry, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. What happened?"

In answer Ron held out the bottle, the only explanation he could provide. A gesture which was greeted with "you need to sober up."

Before Ron could have any input into this plan he found his head in the sink, icy cold water attacking his face leaving it stinging and a bottle of potion being shoved into his hand.

"Drink it."

Without considering any consequences, Ron did so, the potion was strong enough to sober him up completely but it certainly had an effect and he was now able to host a conversation and walk without falling over.

Within ten minutes that were sat back on the sofa, Harry was leant forward, his hair swinging into his face, his eyes tinged with worry. Ron was staring, blankly into space with no readable emotion showing.

"So… why this time?"

Ron shrugged, unwilling to answer.

"Is it… was it… the same reason?"

"…as when?" A response, surely that was positive.

"As last time, and the time before and the…"

"I get it."

Then silence filled the room, the awkward atmosphere started to build, Harry not knowing how to fill the silence and Ron unwilling to do so. The kitchen tap dripped, the clock in the corner ticked, a car drove past outside, tiny insignificant sounds making a moment draw out longer than it should.

And then… "yes." A one word answer, but it was better than nothing.

"Hermione?"

"Sort of."

There was an anger behind Ron's tone, a voice that implied Harry should know this, something to suggest he'd been questioning him for hours rather than mere minutes. Harry instantly felt guilty, maybe he could have talked to Ron before, given him a different vent for his frustration, maybe he could have came round earlier, as soon as Hermione called, maybe then Ron wouldn't have consumed quite so much alcohol, maybe then Harry wouldn't be spending two galleons a week on sober-up potions for his best friend.

Ron sighed, almost like he was admitting defeat. "I'm not good enough for her." Ron stated as though that was fact. "She deserves someone, someone like you."

"Ron, me and Hermione, we're just friends, always have been. She's like a sister to me."

No reply.

"…and as for deserving you, she cares about you, so much, I could tell that from when I spoke to her this morning. You just need to stop drinking."

Still nothing…

"You should tell her… how you feel, she doesn't know, she doesn't think you care."

Ron felt slightly sick at the thought of Hermione not knowing how he felt, he so wanted her to know but he couldn't. It wasn't that simple. Plus, he didn't think he had the courage.

"You could do it now Ron, march up to her front door and pour your heart out, what have you got to lose?"

So he left, taking more long gulps of fire-whiskey as he exited, complaining that he needed "the extra courage." He walked five blocks and rang Hermione's doorbell with every intention of telling her just how he felt.

_ *Hermione's POV*_

I heard the doorbell go, I answered it and _he_ was stood there. Reeking of booze, as usual, his smile slightly false, his eyes twinkling with fake apologies.

I sighed and gestured for him to enter, he walked through and stood quite awkwardly in the middle of the lounge as though he was about to say something.

But he'd been standing there five minutes now, and my patience was wearing thin.

"Well?" I demanded. I'd waited for an explanation for long enough.

"'Mione…" His voice trailed off.

"What Ronald!? What are you possibly about to say? More false apologies? More drunken _confessions_? What's the excuse this time? You were bored? You were tired? You weren't feeling great? What is it!?"

He looked weakened.

"'Mione, I…"

"You what Ronald? You're sorry? You're grateful? You're what? I am sick and tired of taking care of you in your stupid moods with no explanation for your behaviour. I don't have the time and I don't have the energy. I only do this because I care about you and you give me absolutely nothing in return but your goofy smiles and pained expressions. That's not enough, I can't live like this forever!"

"'But 'Mione…"

"No Ronald! You just don't understand. I love you! I'm in love with you! I have been for years and you never took the time to notice, and now you're far more interested in the bottom of a bottle to care. So what could you possibly have to say to make this situation any more delightful than it already is?!" I glared at him, waiting for the torrent of mumbled apologies, the explanations, the same time and effort I'd shown him for so long… but none of it came.

He stared blankly at the floor, his mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

I felt the tears boil in my eyes, I stole one last glance and fled to my room like a scared child.

I closed the door tightly and curled up on my bed, where I planned to stay for as long as possible.

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A/N: That was harder than I thought it would be, so telling me how it went would e very much appreciated... hint, hint :)


	3. The need to forget

**A/N: I'm afraid it's fairly short, but oh well. Sorry if this update took a while, I shall try and make the next chapter both quicker and longer.**

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My head screamed in protest as I sat up and took in my surroundings trying to work out what the hell had happened.

Ron had been here, I knew that much and they'd definitely been some form of shouting match… Well, less of a shouting match more of me confessing my undying love in a fairly inappropriate manor.

I'd definitely ran, as fast as I could if I remember correctly and that's how I'd ended up here, in my room. I was curled on my bed, fully clothed like some sort of exhausted child. Although that still didn't explain the headache or the empty bottle on the floor…

_ *Flashback*_

_The door was shut, my face was hidden, I was all alone. I was safe, I was free to cry. I'd finally done it, what Harry and Ginny and all the rest of them had been telling me to do for years. I'd confirmed that there was a reason I laughed along with the 'us' jokes, a reason I put up with his awful moods and that stench of alcohol. So, why did I feel so much worse?_

_Then I saw it, something that could help me. The bottle of fire-whiskey. If it worked for Ron, why wouldn't it work for me? He'd never remember what happened by morning so maybe it was best if I didn't either. It was all so simple, the liquid sloshed as I pulled the bottle towards me. I needed this, I needed to know how it helped, why it helped, but more than that I needed to forget. The drink slipped down my throat easily, burning in my mouth with a beautiful pain. _

_I could feel my problems fading into the background, so negligible in comparison to the sudden importance of the bottle in my hand. As I drank gulp after gulp, memory after memory of recent events paled into insignificance till nothing could hurt me anymore. _

_For that one moment, I was free._

_ *End of Flashback*_

I must of passed out. I felt disgusted with myself, I was stupid. More than that, I was a hypocrite, how could I possibly shout and scream and nag at Ron for something and then go and do it myself. It was completely ridiculous, I was generally intoxicated enough by thoughts of him, without making that literal through the effect of alcohol.

My head protested against every movement as I hunted through the wardrobe for fresh clothes. The ones I was wearing weren't helping my attitude of self-disgust. My vision swam, everything was a little less clear than it should be, although to be fair my senses were compensating, everything was a hell of a lot louder. I changed quickly, still wondering why the hell I'd spent last night drinking myself into unconsciousness when I surely could've found a far less painful way to deal with things.

That was when I heard the tapping on the window, and insanely loud tapping. I threw the curtains back in frustration and frowned at the owl on the other side of the glass. I guessed it was from Ginny, she would insist on 'maintaining wizarding methods of communication.' I let the owl in, unfortunately the cold air also rushed in with I, and detached the note from its leg.

_Hermione, _

_You seem to be seeing far more of my insufferable brother than me lately. Time far a catch-up I think. Butterbeer this afternoon?_

_Ginny -x-_

It may benefit me to leave the house, my mum always use to say "a bit of fresh air does you the world of good." It might even get rid of this headache, so would a strong enough potion of course, but I didn't like to completely disregard my muggle roots.

I scrawled back a simple reply, an agreement, a place and a time, gratefully closed the window and walked towards the door.

I could hear footsteps on the other side, Ron must've stayed on the sofa last night. I sank to the ground with my back against the solid door wondering how the hell I'd face him if he had any memory of what had happened before.

Although judging by the sounds of him exiting and the end of a one-sided phone conversation (many witches and wizards had turned to muggle communications in an effort to blend in with the muggle world) I heard as he left, he had remained blissfully unaware...

"I know we haven't seen each other in ages…Sure, I'd love to meet up…butterbeer? 3 o'clock?… Alright, see you then."

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**A/N: I think it's a slight cliffhanger. This chapter was far more wordy than what I normally write so reviews are much appreciated. Seriously, they speed up my writing.**


	4. Fury, Jealousy and Fear

_**A/n: Ok, so I haven't written anything in absolutely aaaages. So if you care about that then I'm sorry but here you go, have this.**_

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I'd thought about not going, about sending an owl to Ginny with some feeble excuse about how I'd 'really rather stay inside.' For the first time in my life I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to have to look in his eyes knowing he knew what was hidden behind mine but not seeing it reflected in his. I particularly didn't want to go if this was not some freakish coincidence but in fact a complete set-up, courtesy of Ginny, which would be so awkward that it didn't even bear thinking about. I knew I'd have to face him sooner or later I just didn't _want_ to. But I am a Gryffindor at heart and I will not back away and hide in a corner for anyone.

It was not a warm day in London and the wind whipped my hair against my face as I made my way to the Leaky Cauldron. There was a strong chill in the air and the threat of rain loomed overhead. I was so distracted by the weather that I didn't see Ginny bounding towards me, there was a large grin pasted on her face that told me she hadn't seen her youngest brother lately. She wrapped her arms around me before I even registered it was her and exclaimed that it was 'so good to see me again!' I agreed and her smile was infectious.

It was good to have Ginny there, rambling on about Harry and her family, she was a welcome distraction and as she laughed about how embarrassing her parents had been or how stupid her boyfriend had been I couldn't help but join in. It was pointless gossip, simple stories that didn't matter or cause problems, they were just nice to hear about. It was the reminder I needed that no matter what's going on in my life the rest of the world keeps spinning by. It was at this point that I realised that Ron had literally become my whole life: loving him; caring for him, it was eating up my time and thoughts. There had been no room for anything else for such a long time now and I shouldn't have just one priority. I had friends, I had my own life and I needed to live it. I needed to play the main character in my own story again.

At least, this is what I thought. My thoughts were knocked of the railroad like a crashing train pretty soon after I'd sat down in that pub. Ginny and I had gone in, ordered two butterbeers and sat down, she's continued updating me on her life and I'd stayed relatively quiet, drinking in the normality, treasuring the moment of peace for my thoughts. A moment of peace that was soon to be thrown into a thunderstorm of fury, jealousy and fear.

"So, how have you been?"

I opened my mouth to give some form of vague answer, a rough guide, the 'oh, just the usual' response but the words got stuck in my throat. I'd seen Ron sat at the bar. That was bad enough, for him to be sat there so casually just metres away from me looking as though he didn't give a damn about what had happened the night before. That was what sparked the fury in me, a rage that made me want to scream, to throw harsh words at him once more, to _make_ him listen. Then I saw that he was not alone, there was a woman our age sat beside him, leaning forward and laughing as she placed a hand upon his arm. _That _was what set off the Jealousy. Then the woman turned her head slightly, looked up at something and I could see her face and that was what caused the fear.

That woman was the very girl I had hated since sixth year, purely out of jealousy and hated myself for doing so. The girl I had wanted to prise away from him and lock somewhere far away from him. The girl I had looked at on a daily basis and resisted the urge to scream "Get your hands off him!" The girl that on many an occasion I had wanted to be. The girl who had terrified me because I was so afraid that she would take away my chance with Ron, that she would marry him and have his children and do all the things that I so longed to do.

Lavender Brown.

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_**A/N: Yes, I know it's short. I hope it doesn't suck, do let me know. Reviews are love, messages are...also love?**_

_**Oh, and I swear I'll try to be quicker next time, take pity on me, I had exams.**_


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